cài nǚ xī zào hú jiā shēng,
yī dàn yī shí yòu bā pāi。
hú rén luò lèi zhān biān cǎo,
hàn shǐ duàn cháng duì guī kè。
gǔ shù cāng cāng fēng huǒ hán,
dà huāng shěn shěn fēi xuě bái。
xiān fú shāng xián hòu jiǎo yǔ,
sì jiāo qiū yè jīng sè sè。
dǒng fū zǐ,
tōng shén míng,
shēn shān qiè tīng lái yāo jīng。
yán chí gèng sù jiē yìng shǒu,
jiāng wǎng fù xuán rú yòu qíng。
kōng shān bǎi niǎo sàn hái hé,
wàn lǐ fú yún yīn qiě qíng。
sī suān chú yàn shī qún yè,
duàn jué hú '
ér liàn mǔ shēng。
chuān wéi jìng qí bō,
niǎo yì bà qí míng。
wū sūn bù luò jiā xiāng yuǎn,
luó suō shā chén '
āi yuàn shēng。
yōu yīn biàn diào hū piāo sǎ,
cháng fēng chuī lín yǔ duò wǎ。
bèng quán sà sà fēi mù mò,
yě lù yōu yōu zǒu táng xià。
cháng '
ān chéng lián dōng yè yuán,
fèng huáng chí duì qīng suǒ mén。
gāo cái tuō lüè míng yǔ lì,
rì xī wàng jūn bào qín zhì。
When this melody for the flageolet was made by Lady Cai,
When long ago one by one she sang its eighteen stanzas,
Even the Tartars were shedding tears into the border grasses,
And the envoy of China was heart-broken, turning back home with his escort.
...Cold fires now of old battles are grey on ancient forts,
And the wilderness is shadowed with white new-flying snow.
...When the player first brushes the Shang string and the Jue and then the Yu,
Autumn-leaves in all four quarters are shaken with a murmur.
Dong, the master,
Must have been taught in heaven.
Demons come from the deep pine-wood and stealthily listen
To music slow, then quick, following his hand,
Now far away, now near again, according to his heart.
A hundred birds from an empty mountain scatter and return;
Three thousand miles of floating clouds darken and lighten;
A wildgoose fledgling, left behind, cries for its flock,
And a Tartar child for the mother he loves.
Then river waves are calmed
And birds are mute that were singing,
And Wuzu tribes are homesick for their distant land,
And out of the dust of Siberian steppes rises a plaintive sorrow.
...Suddenly the low sound leaps to a freer tune,
Like a long wind swaying a forest, a downpour breaking tiles,
A cascade through the air, flying over tree-tops.
...A wild deer calls to his fellows. He is running among the mansions
In the corner of the capital by the Eastern Palace wall....
Phoenix Lake lies opposite the Gate of Green Jade;
But how can fame and profit concern a man of genius?
Day and night I long for him to bring his lute again.